I prefer the company, however silent, of a brother or sister in good standing. By the way, madam, may I ask if you have confidence?"
"Really, sir—why, sir—really—I—"
"Could you put confidence in me for instance?"
"Really, sir—as much—I mean, as one may wisely put in a—a—stranger, an entire stranger, I had almost said," rejoined the lady, hardly yet at ease in her affability, drawing aside a little in body, while at the same time her heart might have been drawn as far the other way. A natural struggle between charity and prudence.
"Entire stranger!" with a sigh. "Ah, who would be a stranger? In vain, I wander; no one will have confidence in me."
"You interest me," said the good lady, in mild surprise. "Can I any way befriend you?"
"No one can befriend me, who has not confidence."
"But I—I have—at least to that degree—I mean that—"
"Nay, nay, you have none—none at all. Pardon, I see it. No confidence. Fool, fond fool that I am to seek it!"
"You are unjust, sir," rejoins the good lady with heightened interest; "but it may be that something untoward in your experiences has unduly biased you. Not that I would cast reflections. Believe me, I—yes, yes—I may say—that—that—"
"That you have confidence? Prove it. Let me have twenty dollars."
